


so bright

by emptygoldss



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, the one where they go to paris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:21:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4302879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptygoldss/pseuds/emptygoldss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re like you” Luke whispers. “They remind me of you” </p>
<p>“What do?”</p>
<p>“Galaxies. Millions of stars crowded together to make something beautiful” </p>
<p>aka the one where they go to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so bright

 

~ did you see that shooting star tonight?~

They came together in a funny way. Cliche, really.

Ashton was Calum’s room mate. An art major and a sports major under one roof. What could go wrong? Apart from Calum’s scratched shins from Ashton leaving his art history text books lying around on the floor.

“They were in the middle of the kitchen floor, Ashton!”

“But they were in a pile! A neat pile! Just watch where you’re going!”

And paint everywhere. And I mean, everywhere. Calum wasn’t sure he had an item of clothing that didn’t have paint on. Even clothes that he hadn’t worn, that were still in the back of his wardrobe.

Michael met Luke on the edge of a playing field, the last place either of them should have been. Luke had been studying, a maths textbook balanced on his knees. Completely oblivious to the ball heading straight at his face that Michael had (miraculously) caught. It took a few seconds for Luke to catch on that there was someone standing above him.

Michael and Calum met at a frat party, bonding over a game of beer pong and who would be the first to jump in the pool fully clothed. (It was Calum) (After Michael pushed him in)

However. On the other hand. Ashton and Luke met in their philosophy class.

Luke wasn’t hard to miss. He was tall, and lanky, he couldn’t walk in a straight line and on a good day, he was five minutes late to class. By this time, Ashton was already seated at the back of class.

Luke was also beautiful. He was blonde, his hair gelled into a perfect quiff but the ends curled at the back of his neck. His eyes were baby blue, not a speck of green, or grey, or hazel, just pure blue. Sometimes he wore glasses, not circular and brown and like they’d been donated from his grandfather like Ashton’s did, but black and square. This was usually when he had a 9am class and he’d been up for a total of ten minutes.

Ashton would watch the way Luke would bite his lip as he tried to come up with another excuse as to why he was late. Luke would watch the way Ashton always kept his head down, brown curls falling along his jawline.

Michael knew Calum was friends with Ashton. Calum knew Michael was friends with Luke. Michael knew Luke had a crush on the curly haired boy with old glasses. Calum knew Ashton had a crush on the boy with impossibly blonde hair and a lip ring.

Suddenly, Ashton and Luke saw each other everywhere.

There was ‘Hi’s’ and ‘Hello’s’ and ‘How’s class?’s’ exchanged. There was Luke noticing the way Ashton’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, his heart skipping a beat every time. There was Ashton wishing Luke wouldn’t look at his feet whilst talking so much. There was Calum and Michael standing at a distance, sighing as they watched what could only be described as a complete and utter trainwreck.

Then there was the coffee shop. A final effort from Michael and Calum, who used the old ‘I’ll meet you but not actually turn up’ trick on the two of them. Leaving Luke stood awkwardly in the shop, until he spotted Ashton sitting alone, looking at him.

“You get set up too?”

“You could say that”

~this is the start of something beautiful~

The first time they kiss is perfect.

Ashton knew he was going to have to make the first move. He was a perfectionist. It needed to be at the right time. It couldn’t be set up, or forced. He had to wait, but he was impatient. He was scared he was missing every opportunity.

But he didn’t miss the one when he and Luke was sat on his bedroom floor. Luke had managed to fit his long legs in the small gap between Ashton’s bed and the wall. They’d pulled out Ashton’s old record collection, and Ashton got to watch as Luke picked up each record individually, his fingers brushing along the covers, the corner of his lips turning into a smile as he read the track list.

Ashton leant over, silently, and took the record out of Luke’s hands and placed it on the bed. He placed his fingers under Luke’s chin and tilted it up, because he was so damn sick of Luke staring at his feet, or his hands. He wanted to study Luke’s face, his features, he wanted to memorise every part of his face so he could paint him one day. He wanted to look at his face and wonder what colours he’d have to mix to get his skin, his eyes. He wanted to kiss his lips.

He did.

It was soft and gentle at first, like waves at sea on a calm night.

When Luke kissed back, it was a thunderstorm.

~ staring me down with those electric eyes ~

Luke was sunshine. He was innocence. He was children’s laughter when they were on swings and felt like they were flying. He was finger paintings. He was old copies of books you’d had since being three. He was a constant reminder of happiness in Ashton’s life.

Ashton was autumn leaves. He was the smell of coffee on a dusky morning. He was sunlight through golden curls. He was messy paint palettes and rough sketches. He was Luke’s anchor.

Luke never wanted to grow up, Ashton knew this because his favourite book was Peter Pan. He’d never been one for children’s books, he liked old classics, and poetry.

But he found himself sat up one night with the copy of Peter Pan that Luke kept on his shelf. Luke curled up beside him, sometimes Ashton got distracted with the curve of Luke’s nose that he ached to kiss but he’d have to wait till the morning when he woke up, or the way Luke’s fringe fell over his eyes when he slept.

“It reminds me of home”

His voice was groggy and raspy and Ashton looked down to see Luke rubbing his eyes.

“My mum used to read it to me, so sometimes I read it and I can hear her voice”

Ashton wasn’t sure if Luke was even awake, or if he’d remember saying this in the morning. Luke closed his eyes again and curled into Ashton’s side more, his hair tickling his bare waist. He could hear Luke’s breathing, like a lullaby.

Ashton turned the page and read aloud this time.

“Stars are beautiful, but they may not take part in anything, they must just look on forever”

~ I’ve got high hopes ~

It starts as pillow talk. Whispers about kissing on top of the eiffel tower, running down the champs elysees, croissants for breakfast with jam and cream, to which Luke would ask “Isn’t that English?” and Ashton would giggle and reply “Scones, Luke, you’re thinking of scones”

Luke brings it up first.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He didn’t want to go home and work an office job. He didn’t want to drag Ashton with him.

Ashton wanted to explore. Luke saw it in his eyes, the excitement when they visited new places. He even got excited when they got to go to philosophy class in a different building that one time.

Then Luke realised where he wanted to be. He wanted to be somewhere where Ashton would constantly have that sparkle of excitement in his eyes. That little extra bounce in his step. Where he could just watch him as he saw beauty in everything.  

“Lets do it. Let’s move to Paris, straight after graduation”

They were both squeezed on Luke’s single bed in his dorm. Lied on their stomach’s, sharing a philosophy textbook between them when he suggested it.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah”

Nothing else was said. It was crazy. It was insane. Idiotic and stupid. But they’d landed lucky with each other, maybe they could land lucky with this too. They had each other and nothing else to lose.

Ashton grinned, it was contagious. Suddenly they were two giggling messes, excited at the prospect of living together. No awkward single bed, no being quiet because Calum was in the next room. Just the two of them. Free.

But right now, the awkward single bed was still very much a reality and Ashton climbed over Luke, his knees straddling Luke’s waist so they had more space, leaning down and grabbing Luke’s cheeks as he kissed him.

~ Looking down at these bright blue city lights ~

They don’t unpack on their first day in Paris. They leave boxes piled up at the door of their little apartment. It’s all white, and empty, and clean, and it has a balcony where they can sit with the blanket wrapped around them and watch the sun rise after sleepless nights.

They start at a little french cafe and sit across from each other, kicking each other under the table like kids and ordering the most ‘french’ thing on the menu, laughing at the look on Luke’s face when something arrived that didn’t even look...edible.

It ended with him sheepishly asking if he could have pasta instead.

They stroll down the champs elysees, hand in hand. Looking through the shop windows, Ashton taking a mental note of all the things he’ll buy Luke one day. Looking especially at the rings.

They stand on a bridge overlooking the River Seine, lights illuminating the path and bouncing off the antler necklace Luke had worn since the day Ashton had met him.

They run down to the Eiffel Tower, the lights the decorated it matching the sparkle in Ashton’s eyes when he saw it for the first time. Luke heard the breath catch in the back of his throat and he felt Ashton’s hand find his and intertwine his fingers, and it was something about where they were, what they were stood in front of, the fact they were so alone in a new city but they had each other that sent butterflies crazy in Luke’s stomach like the first time Ashton’s hand found his.  

“We made it” Ashton whispers.

~ Don’t go, come close, wake up with me ~

Nights are rolling around in white sheets, charcoal fingerprints left everywhere on Luke’s body, the familiar smell of watercolor paint as Ashton moves his lips along Luke’s jawline, down to his neck, along his collarbones. Soft kisses and sweet words.

Nights are Luke curled up with his head on Ashton’s chest, the blonde boy going on, and on, and on about space as Ashton plays with his hair, a smile dancing along his lips. Luke talks about the galaxies, and the planets, and the stars, and how big everything is, and how small they are.

“They’re like you” Luke whispers. “They remind me of you”

 

“What do?”

“Galaxies. Millions of stars crowded together to make something beautiful”

Nights are Ashton reading Peter Pan in french to a homesick Luke.  

Mornings are beautiful.

Mornings are Luke waking up too early and getting to see the sun shining onto Ashton’s golden skin. his curls spread out on the pillow, moving closer to Ashton and kissing his nose, falling back to sleep with their foreheads pressed together.

Mornings are the gurgle of the coffee machine as Luke still lies in bed. It’s bread and muffins fresh from the bakery below them for breakfast.  

Mornings are more soft kisses where the shadows touch Luke’s skin. It’s goodbye kisses that last longer than they probably should.  

And days. Oh, the days are the best.

Days are Luke working at the cupcake shop down the street, suggesting new flavours that he and Ashton spent the previous night thinking up. It’s slowly picking up french language and aching to be fluent because it’s the most beautiful thing he’s heard next to Ashton’s soft humming as he paints. It’s the old lady that comes in regularly bringing him art supplies because she knows his boyfriend is an artist.

Days are Ashton sitting under the Eiffel Tower taking commissions for portraits. It’s working part time at the cafe they visited on their first night.

Days off are the best. They’re never ending. It’s sitting in monets garden. It’s Luke telling Ashton to cut his hair because ‘does he realise how hard his curls are too draw’. It’s Ashton yelling at Luke for the shirt he’s wearing because he ‘has to mix six different colours to get the right shade’. It’s Luke sketching planets and constellations as Ashton paints galaxies and writes poetry about the universe.

The apartment has walls lined with Ashton’s artwork. One wall is covered with his photographs and polaroids. Another is covered in photos of the two of them in college, of them with Calum and Michael, photos of Luke’s family and photos of Ashton’s family. There’s a box kept under the bed of little notes that Ashton leaves around. Odd bits of poetry written on cafe napkins and post it notes.

There’s a faint constant smell of paint. Of home.

~ like a soul mate, he’s your penguin ~

One night. They go up to Eiffel Tower, right to the top. It’s a summer night and there’s a cool breeze and Ashton watches as Luke leans against the railing, looking up at the stars.

He’s pointing out the constellations when Ashton grabs his hand and turns him around.

Ashton was always great with words. He had a way of making just a simple sentence sound beautiful. He could talk for days, about anything. But he hadn’t been speechless until this moment.

So he didn’t say anything. He scrapped the whole speech he’d planned because he told Luke these things enough. There was nothing else left to say. There wasn’t enough beautiful things in this universe to compare Luke too.

He got down on one knee.

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